


mistletoe

by Waywarder



Series: Simply Having an Ineffable Christmastime [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21616726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waywarder/pseuds/Waywarder
Summary: In which Aziraphale invites Crowley over to decorate the bookshop for the holidays.Part of Drawlight's 31 Days of Ineffables Holiday Challenge!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Simply Having an Ineffable Christmastime [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558789
Comments: 15
Kudos: 175





	mistletoe

Mistletoe is a parasite. It won’t grow on all tree species. Apple is a good one, because _of course it fucking is_ , Crowley thought, almost bitterly. 

It was December 1, and Crowley was nervous. _Stupid,_ he admonished himself. What was there to be nervous about around Aziraphale anymore? A few months ago, the world hadn’t ended, and so now they went to lunch, and drank too much wine, and bickered about Crowley’s driving, and, amid quiet moments that they hadn’t yet talked about, one of them even reached for the other’s hand. Sometimes, late at night and unwilling to part, Crowley nodded off on Aziraphale’s shoulder at the bookshop, and there they stayed until morning. 

It was all very polite and sweet.

And because they ate lunch and drank wine and bickered and held hands, of course, Aziraphale had invited him over to help decorate the bookshop for Christmas.

“Don’t you think that’ll _attract _customers to the shop, angel?” He had asked, an eyebrow raised above his glasses.__

____

____

“Oh, it’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Aziraphale beamed. 

Because _of bloody course_ Aziraphale loved Christmas. There was cake and fancy bows and peace and good will and all of the angel’s favorite things. It would have been annoying if it weren't also so ridiculously endearing. Towards the middle of November, Crowley caught Aziraphale humming little bits of “The Holly & the Ivy” under his breath. Shops already had Christmas decorations in their windows, and Aziraphale-- thinking himself quite subtle-- squirmed just enough at the sight of them to further destroy Crowley’s heart.

It was fucking adorable.

Christmas had never been Crowley’s favorite time of year. In fact, he’d grown rather accustomed to sleeping through the whole blasted affair. All the stupid angel decorations everywhere… it felt like a slap in the face. Even mistletoe, in addition to its kissing usefulness, had in certain time periods been thought to ward off demons. 

Crowley laughed a little hollowly at that thought as he made his way to his plants. He chewed his bottom lip a little as he regarded them, splendid and petrified as ever. 

Aziraphale had been in Crowley’s flat. Had seen his plants. Had exclaimed over their beauty until Crowley was rather red in the face. 

Aziraphale hadn’t seen the potted apple tree hidden behind the rest of the greenery. 

Didn’t know about the mistletoe living off of it.

Because whatever else he felt about Christmas, Crowley couldn’t deny that the humans were on to something about mistletoe. He’d been cultivating a little of it since it rose to popularity in the Victorian times, just in case. A plant that MAKES YOU KISS WITHOUT HAVING TO TALK ABOUT IT BEFORE OR AFTER? 

It was the ideal holiday innovation in Crowley’s opinion.

Because they hadn’t talked about it so far. The hand holding, the falling asleep on shoulders, the near constant companionship… Crowley certainly didn’t want to trap Aziraphale into kissing him… just maybe give the angel a little holiday-infused nudge? And if it was wrong, if Aziraphale didn’t like it, if all of Crowley’s worst fears came true, then it was just a laugh, really, wasn’t it?

Yes, it was December 1, and Crowley was nervous. It was nearly time to head to the bookshop. The demon took a deep breath, swearing in his head all the while, and collected a bit of mistletoe from his secret, stupid apple tree.

_ Later, at the bookshop. _

“Crowley!”

How could the angel be expecting him, and still say his name with such ardent enthusiasm? It was enough for Crowley to forget his nerves for a moment, and break out into a grin. 

“Hey, angel.” His voice betrayed his fondness, he knew. He didn’t care. 

“Please, do come in,” Aziraphale’s smile was nearly overwhelming. Did he know what his smile did to Crowley, the demon wondered? The mistletoe was oh-so-very present in his coat pocket.

Crowley stepped into the shop, and it was… not what he expected. Crowley had steeled himself all day for the shop to look as though a Christmas card had vomited inside of it, but it seemed now that Aziraphale was the portrait of decorative restraint. Besides an unadorned pine tree in the corner (which Crowley made a mental note to instill the fear of himself in as soon as he had a moment alone with it), and the scent of apple and cinnamon in the air, the shop looked like itself.

“I’m disappointed, angel,” Crowley drawled. “I expected a right Winter Wonderland in here.”

“Well, it’s only the first of the month. Still lots to do,” Aziraphale said, excitedly. “Besides,” and the enthusiasm in his voice turned into something gentler. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you, my dear.”

Crowley blushed a little. Of course Aziraphale would know he’d be nervous. Of course Aziraphale would know that this was weird for him. Of course Aziraphale was thoughtful and kind and beautiful and _FUCK._

Crowley was torn between getting out the mistletoe, and running for the hills. 

“Wassail?” Aziraphale broke the silence.

“Only if it’s spiked.”

“Really, my dear. As if you don’t know me at all.”

Aziraphale wandered out of the room in the direction of the apple-y smell. Crowley’s fingers grazed the mistletoe. He realized now that he had absolutely no plan. Was he going to hang it up somewhere covert, and just hope that he and Aziraphale would happen to end up under it? What was he even going to hang it up with? He pulled it out of his pocket.

Mistletoe is a parasite. It can also be rather poisonous to humans and animals. _What a strange thing to kiss under,_ Crowley thought. 

“What’s that, Crowley?”

Crowley nearly jumped out of his skin. Because there was Aziraphale, holding two mugs, and there he was, holding his stupid, secret, homegrown, parasitic mistletoe. 

“Um,” Crowley muttered. “Brought you a decoration. The humans like it.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale realized what it was. Crowley wanted to discorporate. 

Aziraphale set the mugs down, and walked towards him. The angel was smiling again, which was the absolute worst.

“If you don’t like it, I can toss it out,” Crowley protested. “Stupid thing, really.”

Aziraphale curled his fingers around the mistletoe, and, therefore, Crowley’s hand. _Don’t get excited,_ Crowley warned his treacherous heart. You’ve been here before.

“Do you know what I like so much about Christmas, my dear?” The angel looked up at him, blasted holiday cheer etched into his perfect face. 

“Something to do with cake, I expect.”

Aziraphale’s eyes fucking _sparkled._ “I think Dickens put it best. ‘I have always thought of Christmastime, when it has come around… as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely.’”

And Aziraphale took Crowley’s other hand.

“I think perhaps that my heart has been rather shut-up for quite some time,” Aziraphale said, softly. 

“Aziraphale-” Crowley started, but the angel cut him off.

“It’s the first Christmastime of the rest of eternity,” he went on. “And all I want to do to celebrate it is to be with you.” 

“Why?” Crowley breathed. He hadn’t meant to ask. It just slipped out, desperate, terrified, hopeful.

Aziraphale tugged Crowley’s hand to his heart, somewhat awkwardly stroking the clutched mistletoe as he did so.

“Because I love you, darling.” 

And the mistletoe fell to the floor as they each reached for the other, Aziraphale’s arms winding around Crowley’s neck, and Crowley’s hands grasping Aziraphale’s face. And, later, much later into the evening, over wassail, they would indeed talk about it, and it would be the best conversation of Crowley’s very long life.

It was December 1, and maybe the month was going to be alright after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I learned so much about mistletoe!
> 
> Thank you to Drawlight for setting up this lovely fic advent calendar! I am very excited.


End file.
